


The Dartmoor Pirates (Yo Ho Ho!)

by flawedamythyst



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crack AU for 2.02: The Hounds Of Baskerville. What if there really had been pirates?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dartmoor Pirates (Yo Ho Ho!)

“I couldn't help noticing on the map of the moor, a skull and crossbones?” asked John, aware of Sherlock hovering over his shoulder, waiting for him to ask the right questions.

“Oh, that, aye,” said the barkeeper, looking pained at the mention of it.

John waited, but nothing more elucidating was forthcoming. “Pirates?” he suggested with a grin.

The barkeeper's expression went even blacker. “Ah, aye,” he said.

John stared at him. “You're kidding me. Actual pirates?”

“We don't much like talking about them,” said the barkeeper. “Bad for tourism, you know.”

Sherlock abruptly gave up the pretence of not listening, rushing to the bar and leaning across it. “Pirates? You have real, live pirates here?”

“Unfortunately,” said the barkeeper. “But they mostly keep to themselves. Just keep away from their flags, and they shouldn't bother you.”

“Flags,” said Sherlock reverently, his eyes lighting up. “Come on, John!” he said,grabbing John's wrist and pulling him out of the pub.

“Sherlock, what about the hound?” protested John, trying to at least get his wrist free.

“It can wait!” said Sherlock, dragging him in the direction of the moor. “Pirates, John!”

They spotted one of the flags within twenty minutes, a skull-and-crossbones fluttering on a pole at the top of a rocky mound. Sherlock headed straight for it.

“Do you think they might have had something to do with Henry's father's death?” asked John, more than a little out-of-breath from trying to keep up with Sherlock's strides.

“Probably not,” said Sherlock. “Who cares? It's pirates!”

John began to have a very unpleasant feeling about this, which only increased when a voice behind them shouted, “Avast ye, landlubbers! Heave to!”

He turned to see a gang of pirates behind them. Actual, honest-to-God pirates, carrying cutlasses and flintlock pistols, all of which were pointed at John and Sherlock.

“Oh, wonderful,” breathed Sherlock next to him, sounding as if he was actually about to wet himself with glee.

“Ye be in our territory,” said the pirate wearing the biggest hat and carrying the largest sword. “What be your reasons?”

Sherlock pulled himself up to his full height. “I am Captain Skull-Lock,” _What?!_ thought John. _What the actual hell?_ Sherlock gestured to him, “and this is my faithful first-mate-”

“No,” interrupted John before he could get lumbered with some painfully bad pirate name. “I'm not the first-mate. What makes you think you're captain, any way?”

Sherlock scowled at him. “Of course I am, John, pay attention.”

“I am,” said John. “And of the two of us, only one is a real Captain.”

Sherlock's scowl deepened. “'Captain Watson' is hardly a pirate name.”

_Thank God for that,_ thought John. He'd had enough mockery in the Army for being short without adding in a bloody stupid name as well.

The pirate captain cleared his throat. “If I could be interruptin',” he said, recalling their attention the fact they were being held up by pirates.

Sherlock swung back to him. “We have come to join your crew,” he said grandly.

“We've what?” asked John, but was ignored.

“My crew be full,” said the pirate captain. “Hard luck.” Was it John's imagination, or was his pirate accent faltering in the face of Sherlock?

“Don't be ridiculous,” said Sherlock. “You need us. I'm a genius, and John is a crack shot.”

“Not with a bloody flintlock, I'm not,” said John. “Sherlock, I'm not becoming a pirate!”

Sherlock glared at him. “Why on earth not? Pirates, John!”

“I told you- ye,” said the pirate captain. “We don't want ye. If we let every Johnny Depp wannabe that crosses our path join up, the whole moor would be overrun.”

Sherlock looked stricken. “I am not a Johnny Depp wannabe,” he said in tones of deep outrage.

The captain looked him over. “Whatever you say, mate. We just want your booty.”

“What?” asked Sherlock.

“Your booty,” repeated the pirate captain. “But not in an American rapper way,” he hurriedly clarified. John wondered if there had been misunderstandings in the past.

“I'm a genius!” said Sherlock. “I can help you expand! Together, we could-”

“No, thank ye,” said the pirate captain. “Just the booty, please.” He gestured with his sword. “Start with your wallets, watches and phones.”

“Well, that's hardly pirate-y,” said John.

“Watch it, or we'll make you walk the plank,” said the captain. He gestured behind them, and John turned to see that one of the cliffs under the flag had a plank leading off the top of it.

“Christ, you're nuts,” said John.

“Not as nuts as him,” said the captain, nodding at Sherlock, who looked torn between righteous indignation and tears.

“You're not proper pirates at all,” he said. “Proper pirates would have recognised the value of having me on their crew.”

“I recognise the value of your belongings,” said the captain. “Come on, hand them over.”

John reluctantly gave them his phone and wallet, though when they saw his rather cheap watch, they decided he could keep it. Sherlock handed them his wallet and watch, but kept hold of his phone.

“Come on, ye scurvy dog,” said a pirate with a stuffed parrot lopsidedly attached to his shoulder. He held his cutlass to Sherlock's neck. “Hand it over.”

“Sherlock, don't be an idiot,” said John. “Easier to get a new phone than a new neck.”

Sherlock made a deeply unhappy noise, but gave it over.

“Excellent,” said the pirate captain. He cleared his throat, then added in a far more piratey-accent, “Be gone, landlubbers, and rue the day ye ever fell foul of the Dartmoor Pirates!”

The other pirates all raggedly cheered. “Yo ho ho for the Dartmoor Pirates!”

Sherlock looked as if he was going to say something else, something that would end with them being made to walk the plank, so John just grabbed his wrist and pulled him away, back towards Grimpen village.

“Well, that was a brilliant idea,” he said, once they'd left the pirates behind them.

Sherlock made a growling noise under his breath. “They were not proper pirates.”

“Of course not,” said John. “For one thing, they're on land, and for another, it's not the bloody eighteenth century any more! What were you expecting? Blackbeard?”

Sherlock scowled harder, and made no response.

“Christ,” said John. “Let's just try and keep this investigation a bit sane, shall we?”

“You mean the investigation into a giant, demonic, murderous hound?” asked Sherlock.

John paused. “Yeah, okay, point taken,” he said. “But still – pirates, Sherlock. How was that ever going to end well?”

Sherlock's scowl grew sulky, and he refused to say anything more as they walked back to the pub.


End file.
